“It’s so creepy,” said Kyle Landry, the lacrosse captain. He sounded gleeful. I wanted to tell him that if he thought it was so creepy, he could stop shoving his crotch up against my shoulder and go back to his desk, but—well. I’m not that kind of girl.
The video was super grainy, but I knew as soon as I saw the willowy shape of her, the ice-blond hair. Emma. The roar of Anna’s Run filled the speakers.
And then, the push.
I couldn’t breathe. As soon as the video stopped, the whispers rushed in, building around me. They erupted in rapid-fire guessing as the video began an automatic replay.
“It had to have been someone strong.”
“Definitely a dude.”
“And at least six inches taller than Emma.”
A shadow fell over us. The other students scattered like autumn leaves in the flood. I looked up at the less-than-ecstatic form of Mrs. Willingham.
“Good morning, Miss Cross. I’m sorry, I know this must be a shock. Phones are confiscated for the duration of the day.” The Ham held out her hand and I gave up the phone without a fight. It wasn’t like I wanted to watch the video again. I wish I’d never watched it in the first place.
The Ham raised her voice. “That goes for everyone. No phones, no backup phones. Your parents can call the office if they need to get in touch with you. I have to step out for a moment, and I expect you all to act cordially.” As she spoke, her eye drifted over to the door, as though she knew who was about to come through.
A moment later, Claude Vanderly slouched in, wearing the same clothes she was wearing yesterday. Her thick Goth eyeliner was smeared, like she just emerged from the closet with some other girl’s boyfriend. As usual.
The Ham spoke to her for a moment. Claude looked pissed. Then she scanned the room.
She and I realized at the same time. There were two empty seats left in the room—one right in front of Kyle and his cronies, and one next to me.
The seat next to me should’ve been Emma’s seat. She should’ve respected that. But Claude folded her long limbs under the desk and let her bag thump between us.
I was ready to ignore the challenge. Claude needs to be at the center of at least one drama a day, and I don’t fuel her fire. But Lyla, bestie that she is, wasn’t about to let Claude think she could get away with anything. And Lyla’s never forgiven Claude for trying to seduce my boyfriend at homecoming last year, or for spreading the rumor that she succeeded. Lyla put a hand on my arm as if to say, I’ve got this. She raised her voice in Claude’s direction. “I have a cross in my bag, if you finally want that exorcism.”
Claude turned her head slowly, like she’d just noticed we were there. Like I said, she manufactures drama. “I’m sure it makes a great accessory for your preppy antifeminism.” She looked at me and yawned. “Morning, Little Miss Prozac.”
“Misandrist Barbie,” I muttered back. I couldn’t help myself. I try, but honestly. Claude can’t act like her life has changed even though a girl is dead? She can’t acknowledge that the world doesn’t revolve around her and her weird agendas?
All the same, I instantly regretted it. I’d been up late—extra cheer practice with Lyla—and I was exhausted. It felt like I had swum the length of Anna’s Run myself. And now this . . . I just don’t have the energy to deal with Claude. Not today.
CLINE: Do Claude and Emma have a history?
AVERY: I don’t know. Is Claude a suspect?
CLINE: Why don’t we stick to talking about Emma?
AVERY: Because, I mean—if Emma was out on Anna’s Run, why wouldn’t Claude have something to do with it? Claude’s out there all the time. Not that I’ve seen her. Anna’s Run is the sketchiest place in town, so I don’t even like to hear about it, much less go there, you know? But—well, Claude was arrested for vandalism last year. Vandalizing Anna’s Run. That’s what Emma said, and her dad’s the cop who made the arrest.
You must know him. Officer Baines, chief of police?
Anyway, I heard from Emma that it wasn’t actually vandalism. It was witchcraft. Like, weird sacrifices and stuff. Claude’s mom is a lawyer, so she got the paperwork changed, but Claude talks about Anna like she’s a real person. Like she can—commune with her or something.
CLINE: What do you think about Anna’s Run?
AVERY: There’s loads of ghost stories about Anna. In middle school, we used to tell them at sleepovers to scare each other. We’d say that the river was cursed there. But once we got into high school, we realized it’s just a place where kids go when they want to do something bad without their parents catching them. Like smoke weed, or drink. Or, you know, other things with each other. Stuff that Claude Vanderly is . . . kind of good at.
But Emma wouldn’t hang out there. Emma’s as good as they come. Not to mention her dad would flip if he found out. I don’t know why she’d be at Anna’s Run last night, but it must have been a good reason. Maybe she was running from whoever—whoever . . .
CLINE: Do you have any idea who would want to hurt Emma?
AVERY: Not at all.
CLINE: No one here, or in her personal life?
AVERY: Emma didn’t have any enemies—well, I guess Gwen Sayer. Sort of. I mean, they were competitors for the Devino Scholarship. But Emma didn’t have, like, real enemies. She was always busy with her studies, but nice to everyone. She didn’t have a boyfriend, and she spent so much time on extracurriculars, it was like she didn’t have any left over for making friends or foes. She was good friends with Lizzy Sayer, before . . . and then when Lizzy died, Emma’s dad said he didn’t want her hanging around with people like that. So if she wasn’t at cheer, or the school newspaper, or speech and debate club, she was at home. And even though she was totally normal and awesome, she got a reputation after the Lizzy Sayer thing.
Lizzy died near Anna’s Run. Do you think it’s a coincidence?
I know it happened two years ago, but Emma was, like, really interested in Lizzy’s death. It was super awkward, since Gwen is in the same grade as us and she doesn’t want to talk about it. It was an accident, right? What else is there to say?
Emma was convinced it wasn’t accidental at all. The more she looked into it, the worse it got. She was . . . obsessed. I don’t like using that word, but she was. She kept going back, over and over. She started being late to cheer practice, taking extra shifts at the paper . . . We were all worried, but nobody could stop her from doing the research, right? It wasn’t illegal or anything.
But then the incident happened.
CLINE: Tell me about this incident.
AVERY: It was a mandatory antidrug seminar at the beginning of the year. I think Principal Mendoza and Mr. Garson set it up, so we’d connect to each other? Like instead of getting drop-down drunk and stumbling along the ravine near Anna’s Run, we’d . . . hug it out? I don’t know. The presenter was really nice, and trying so hard. But then Emma raised her hand, and stood up, and said, “Lizzy Sayer didn’t kill herself. And she didn’t die by accidental overdose.” Like she was announcing lunch. “Lizzy was murdered.”
The whole school went wild. A bunch of people booed—they thought Emma was stirring up trouble, or trying to get attention. Some of the others shouted facts from the case, like she had two empty bottles of Jack in the back of her car, and enough alcohol in her system to make her blackout drunk. The poor seminar lady didn’t know what to do. Principal Mendoza and Counselor Garson led Emma away, and the next time I saw her, she was back to not talking about it.